


Start from the Beginning

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dubious Consent, Friends to Lovers, Fuck Or Die, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Omega Steve Rogers, Sex Curse, Sex Pollen, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: What about a sex pollen fic where the pollen-ed one doesn’t remember getting hit in the face with a sex flower, and wakes up midway through the depollenating?Or: the one where Steve wakes up on his back with a stranger buried balls-deep in his ass.¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 189
Kudos: 963





	1. He Wakes Up On His Back

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I was thinking of sex pollen fics (as I often do) and I realised that they always start with the pollinating/cursing, and then finish with the cursed person waking up and realising they were meant to be together all along. But what if the cursed person were to wake up in the middle of the, --ahem-- proceedings, and not remember having the requisite epiphany? What terribly angsty shenanigans would ensue? 
> 
> So with that in mind, please understand that the fic (especially chapter one) references rape! I'll put a summary of the chapter in the end notes in case you want more information before you read!

He wakes up on his back with an absolute stranger buried balls deep in his ass.

Thanks to the serum he’s able to think quite a lot of things all at the same time, but for the moment the outstanding thought is

What.

The. _Fuck._

The stranger has hands on Steve’s sides. The stranger’s hair is tickling Steve’s neck.

The stranger is _licking Steve’s scent gland._

Adrenaline hits his bloodstream like a tsunami hitting a two-foot sandcastle and his muscles lock tight. He gets half a millisecond to consider that maybe that’s only going to make the situation worse before the guy makes a strangled groan and grinds into him, the heat of his breath feeling almost wet against Steve’s neck and other parts of him feeling even wetter. _The stranger is coming in Steve’s ass._ The immense pressure of a knot starts to swell and all the hairs on Steve’s body stand on end like he’s developed spidey senses for the sole purpose of becoming ultra-aware of every inch of the stranger’s skin against his own. He feels alpha teeth press against his neck.

Someone screeches.

Oh, wait. That’s him.

The stranger’s breath catches and he starts to lean back. Steve switches to autopilot. He slams the heel of his hand into the stranger’s chest and before the stranger can pull away he flips them over, then flips them again, using the force of the spin to hurl the stranger bodily off the bed and straight through the drywall. Thankfully the sound of crunching plaster masks the extremely audible and unfortunately _wet_ sound of an almost-knotted dick popping free from an asshole. _His_ asshole.

The only way it could come free like that without immense pain is if he’s so well-fucked that his ass…

_Nopety Nope._

Steve makes a run for it.

He gets to the door on panic alone, but then gravity remembers it has a job to do and he slams into the doorframe, his knees going weak all at once. The insides of his thighs feel wet and he screams; for a moment simply unable to deal with every bit of his body telling him quite graphically what’s just happened.

His limbs feel noodly. He’s got beard burn. He can _smell_ his own slick, which should be impossible. His suppressants are super strength. He must have been _poisoned._ His body isn’t working. Was he knocked unconscious? Jesus he needs to get OUT.

He looks around to figure out which way the exit is and he realises he knows exactly which way the exit is because _he lives here._

He’s in the Avengers Compound.

His blood runs cold. If he’s been poisoned then the rest of the team might be affected as well, and they don’t have the serum to help them wake up.

He spots his uniform on the floor and drags it over his shaking legs as he stumbles to the front door of his apartment. Things squelch noticeably.

“Friday?” he calls. His voice sounds wrecked, like it’s had something large inside it and…

Nope, actually. He doesn’t need to think about why his voice is wrecked.

“Friday?” he calls, a little louder.

Friday doesn’t respond. The AI must be down. He tries the front door but it’s locked tight, so he heaves his knee up against the deadbolt, only remembering after he almost shatters his kneecap that Tony’s had the entire compound outfitted in hulk-resistant security measures.

Oh, the _hell_ with that.

He punches through the wall next to the door, reaches around, and unlocks the door from the outside.

Take _that,_ Stark.

He staggers down the hallway towards the fire stairs, wishing he could use the lifts but hesitant to trust any technology with Friday compromised. Fortunately his apartment is on the top floor and going down stairs is way easier than going up them, especially when he trips halfway and goes ass over teakettle all the way down to the bottom. A very efficient way of travelling, he concludes at the ground floor, probing his cheekbone to make sure it’s still in place. He blinks away stars and shakes his head. He feels way too woozy, and there are a dozen more walls than a stairwell should need. Plus, the longer he stays awake the more he can smell, and added to the frankly mortifying stench of his own slick is something deeper, almost familiar. Is that his _scent?_ He’s never smelled it before. It’s rich, a little woodsy, and infinitely comforting. Is his own scent supposed to be comforting? And why can’t he smell the alpha? Oh God, if his scent is this strong it means his suppressants are fully burned off. Which means…

He gropes for the handrail and tries to get to his feet. He fails miserably. Which is exactly when someone walks around the corner.

“Steve?”

“Tony! Tony, thank God! Are you okay?”

Tony’s nose crinkles up. “Am _I_ okay? I’m not the one smelling like a brothel and molesting staircases.”

“We’re under attack!”

Tony has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, I bet you are,” he says. “Seems like you need a bit more attacking though, Cap. Why aren’t you in your room? Have you tired Romeo out already?”

Steve’s brain goes _What_ , his eyes go _What,_ his mouth says _“WHAT?”_

Tony squints at him and leans down to snap a finger in his face. “Are you feeling okay? You still seem a little out of it. Maybe you need another round or ten. Friday?”

“Sir?”

“I told you not to let them out until we got the all-clear.”

“There’s been a fist-sized security breach in the wall, Sir.”

“Oh for the love of… Well can you call—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts urgently, still trying to figure out which way is up. “Tony, that’s not important. _We’re under attack.”_

“Friday?”

“Nothing on long- or short-range scanners, Sir.”

“Steve, I think you need to go back upstairs and maybe work out some of this energy, because you don’t seem like you’ve fully recov—”

“I can’t go back upstairs! There’s someone in my room!” He clutches his hair and puts his head between his knees, speaking to the concrete floor in an effort to make the walls stop spinning. “Tony, I don’t, I’ve been, I’ve, oh God, Tony I think I’ve been raped.”

He looks back up in time to see Tony lose all the colour in his face. “Wait,” he breathes. “Wait, no, that’s not… Oh no.”

“We have to check on the others, make sure they weren’t affected.”

Tony looks like he’s checked out. “No one else was affected,” he mumbles, his skin passing white and going backwards into grey. There’s a thin layer of sweat at his temples and on his upper lip, like he’s gone into shock in three seconds flat.

Steve reaches out a hand to steady him. “Woah,” he says. Maybe the poison takes longer to affect the non-enhanced. “You’re okay. Sit down.”

Tony shakes himself. “I’m not okay,” he groans. “I’m not, I… oh, Jesus. Oh God, Steve, I didn’t… You really don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” He realises that he’s wearing his Captain America uniform, which had been on the floor instead of hanging in his wardrobe. “Did we have a mission? Did the alpha break in while we were gone?” He scrubs his temples, where a powerful headache is building, but it does nothing to extract any memories. He feels like there are a lot of emotions he’s supposed to be feeling right now, and his brain is having a hard time feeling a single one of them properly. “I went to bed, and then I woke up and some guy was… Tony, oh my God, I don’t think he was wearing a condom.”

Tony’s knees give way and he lurches against the wall, sliding down to sit beside him. “Oh, honey, I don’t think he did. I just… Steve did you see his face? I need you to tell me what you… Christ, did you hurt him?”

“I… I don’t know. Probably. Yes. Shit. Do you need him for questioning?”

Tony doesn’t reply, he taps his watch and speaks into it urgently. From upstairs there comes the sound of a door being opened and closed, then two seconds later Tony’s watch lights up and Nat’s voice says, “He’s alive.” Tony sags in what looks like relief.

“Be careful,” Steve worriedly tells the watch. “He must be strong if he managed to hold me down.”

There’s a long pause before Nat’s voice comes again, strangely flat. “Copy that,” she says.

“Steve,” Tony says carefully. “I, ah, need to tell you something.”

Steve is weak, sweaty, and covered in someone else’s… _residue._ The compound is not under attack and no one else has been poisoned. “Is it the directions to your shower?” he groans. If there’s nothing that needs Avenger-ing then he needs to clean up and get new clothes.

“Right,” Tony says. “Right, right, okay, yes, yeah, let’s do that first, let’s, uh… This way.” He gets to his feet and then grabs Steve’s shoulder when Steve wobbles upright. His face drops in brief disgust and Steve glances down to see something sticky connecting Tony’s hand to his uniform.

A rush of hot shame sweeps him from the roots of his scalp to the tips of his toes. He’s _disgusting._ Even Tony—who’s undoubtedly been in grosser clothes—is disgusted with him. Worse than that, he’s the only one who’s been affected. He must have… Did he _let_ this happen? Right in his own bedroom? Tony had been only a floor below, so Steve obviously hadn’t even called for help. And now he’s sticky and used and he’s making Tony deal with it when it should be no one’s problem but his own. “Sorry,” he says automatically. “Sorry, you don’t have to… I can get there by myself.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Tony says, but his face has gone all grey and slack again. He trails Steve all the way to the bathroom, mumbling half-sentences as he goes. “This shouldn’t have… I’ll get you some clean clothes… Totally misread the… Gonna need a new suit… I can do a new suit… Barnes is gonna…”

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve interrupts. He staggers into the bathroom and starts peeling off the uniform. There are tears and stains all over it.

Tony just stares at him, grey-faced. “Steve,” he says weakly. “Please tell me you remember.”

“Remember _what?_ Where’s Bucky?!”

“He’s in the medbay,” Tony says slowly, like he’s waiting for Steve to fill in the gaps.

“Is he okay? Was he hurt on the mission?” His blood runs cold.

“He’s fine.” Tony looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere than standing in a bathroom while Steve peels his soggy shirt off. “He, uh… Got thrown into a wall.”

“What? How! What the hell happened, Tony? What the hell did we fight? How come I was the only one poisoned and Bucky’s the only one injured? Bucky’s too good to let anything get the upper hand, the only one who could’ve thrown him into a wall is another super soldie—”

And with that startling realisation he promptly passes the fuck out.

* * *

\--EIGHT HOURS EARLIER--

Bruce is speaking very very loud, and very very fast. Bucky thinks that everyone’s doing an excellent job of pretending like Steve isn’t trying to dissolve his face into Bucky’s neck like the fish from _Blue Planet_ , but he makes a gesture with one hand to tell Bruce to speak _louder_ and _faster._ The quinjet will land at Avengers Compound in five minutes and he doesn’t plan on sticking around a single second after the bay doors open.

The only reason Steve’s not in his pants right now is because he’s been magni-cuffed for his own good. And even without his hands he’s making a damn good attempt at turning Bucky to jelly. His _scent._ Mercy, the _noises_ he’s making.

“Please,” he whispers for the hundredth time. His voice is hot in Bucky’s ear. He may be drugged halfway to Hell but he’s still as sharp as a tack. He’s already picked up on all the best ways to make Bucky tick. “I love you,” he pleads, “I want you, please Buck, please alpha. It’s always been you.”

Every word hits like lightning. Bucky cannot _believe_ this. He’s wanted Steve for years… decades, even. And now he learns that Steve wants him back?

“And in conclusion?” he interrupts Bruce.

Bruce halts the chemical mish-mash talk just long enough for everyone in the room to hear the moan Steve makes when he licks Bucky’s scent gland.

“In conclusion, he’ll be fine,” Bruce squeaks. “A few rounds of, er…”

“Fuck me,” Steve begs.

“Yeah, that,” Bruce manages.

“And the symptoms?”

“Should wear off as soon as the serum gets a chance to actually fight it. There’s a few unknowns.” He waves his hand at the screen where a list of chemicals Bucky’s never heard of scroll past. “But they’re all in trace amounts and I’m sure he can overcome them given the right, er, encouragement.”

“I want to taste your cock,” Steve says in the silence, and the rest of the team continues to pretend that they’re staring out of the front window, as though there’s nothing in the whole world more interesting than the few smoggy clouds below them.

Steve takes the opportunity to swing a leg over Bucky’s lap and grind down into him. He’s wet from the backs of his knees to the bottom of his holster belt. Bucky has never been harder in his _life._ He thanks God that suppressants don’t play well with his head, because if he had been scent-muted and missed THIS then he would have had to kill something out of sheer injustice. The heady scent of omega is twisting around his own scent. It’s intoxicating in a way that he always knew Steve would be. He’s never had a chance to smell Steve before—not like this—but he always hoped he would. Before the serum Steve had been too weak to come off suppressants and after the serum he had been given a super-strength version which he had never stopped taking. Bucky is going to pour the whole lot down the drain. He never wants Steve smelling of anything else ever again.

As though he can hear Bucky’s thoughts, Steve clamps his legs around Bucky’s waist and tilts his head back to give Bucky unfettered access to his neck.

“Don’t make me cuff your ankles, too,” Bucky threatens, mostly for the benefit of the team. Steve moans like he can’t think of anything better.

“We only have one set,” Clint says gleefully. He’s the only one not pretending to stare at clouds. If he wasn’t an omega Bucky would growl at him for daring to see Steve like this, but really he can’t fault anyone for enjoying the sight of Steve riding him while still fully clothed. Steve is glorious.

“I can’t believe we’ve been telling Winter-Man here to soldier-up and confess his feelings,” Tony mutters to Nat at the front of the plane. “When really all we needed was to throw some magic hoo-ha in the mix.”

“I would have confessed much earlier if I knew Steve felt the same way,” Bucky allows.

“I do,” Steve says, voice trembling. “I do! Please, please, Bucky _please.”_

“One minute til we land,” Nat says out loud, to the combined sighs of relief of everyone on board, with the exception of Clint.

“I didn’t even see anything,” he complains.

Bucky scoops Steve up into a koala-hug, which Steve obligingly allows if only to better rub himself over the tent in Bucky’s tac-pants. His ankles lock at the small of Bucky’s back.

“So no long term effects and no loss of cognition,” Bucky confirms with Bruce.

Bruce shrugs. “I think so?”

The plane lets out a _woosh_ as it rapidly descends towards the air strip. Bucky carries Steve to the doors, ready to take him straight to the nearest bed. “You _think_ so?”

Bruce winces. “There are no other likely explanations… The combination _is_ unusual but the—”

The bay doors open and Bucky’s off before he can get trapped in another chemical analysis lecture. Steve props his cuffed wrists at the back of Bucky’s neck and does his very best to make Bucky trip over his own feet as they hurtle into the compound and towards the elevators.

“You’re heavy,” he grunts, not slowing down in the slightest.

“You’re hard,” Steve says in reply. Which isn’t really a retort but he certainly isn’t wrong.

“You gonna help me take care of that?” He hikes Steve up against his hips for the short ride up to their floor. Steve moans like a bitch in heat. Which. Well.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” Steve wails, and Bucky doesn’t have a single reason not to believe him. The universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to bring them together for no reason, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t mean for Clint to be so oogly in this fic but Murphy’s (lesser known) Law clearly states that any Avenger left unattended will eventually end up shipping stucky. So. Here we are.  
> 
> 
> SPOILERY SPOILERS:  
> Chapter 1 features omega!Steve waking up while being fucked by an alpha. He throws the alpha off without seeing his face, believing himself to have been poisoned and raped. (And, technically, he has! Mind altering drugs = can't consent, kids!) The other Avengers (specifically Tony) realise that this means they were witnesses & accomplices to his rape.  
> Steve realises the person fucking him was Bucky, and passes out.  
> 
> 
> This fic is unbeta-ed! So if you spot a bug for me to squash please let me know!


	2. "Play it Again"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he has to stay pissed off. 
> 
> Because as soon as he stops being pissed off he’s going to be fucking _horrified._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like miscommunication because this chapter is just a miscommunication turducken. Everyone is misinterpreting everyone, _just the way we like it_ (: (:

“Play it again,” Steve orders. He stares as the tiny version of him on the cameras raises his shield and promptly gets blasted halfway across the stadium. The cameras are old and situated far away from the action, but he clearly lands hard, amidst what appears to be a cloud of flower petals. A few seconds pass and then Hulk appears on screen, followed quickly by Iron Man and Black Widow, and then it’s all over for the weird floaty wizard-cum-scientist.

A tiny Bucky sprints onto screen and then dashes across the stadium towards the prostrate screen-Steve, rolling him on his back and checking him for injuries. Steve can feel the ghost of those hands now, and he wraps himself up tighter in the gigantic blanket he’s taken to wearing like a shawl. He doesn’t _remember_ this, but he knows what Bucky feels like. He’s spent years patching up—and being patched up by—his best friend. But none of those occasions had ever meant anything… _more._ No matter how hard he had wished them to.

But now? Shit. _Now_ he’s apparently been fucked every which way by him and, well, he can probably kiss the best friend badge goodbye. No way Bucky’s going to want to talk to him after this. Let alone look at him. _He_ doesn’t even want to look at himself. He’d spent almost a century burying his stupid omega feelings and one tiny spell or curse or whatever had apparently been enough to make him _beg_ for it.

He’s pissed off is what he is. At the team, for letting Bucky agree to do… _that._ At the freaky wizard guy, for having a weapon in his arsenal that might have killed a non-enhanced person. And at himself most of all, for not being strong enough to resist it.

And he has to stay pissed off.

Because as soon as he stops being pissed off he’s going to be fucking _horrified._

They’ve all seen. They’ve all _seen._ The whole team has seen him begging for cock, and apparently they’ve seen him doing such a good job of it that Bucky had been forced to fuck the aphrodisiac out of him out of some kind of misguided sympathy. And the team just _let it happen._

So yeah, maybe he felt violated when he first woke up, but really it’s Bucky that’s been raped, and by his own best friend. And the team all saw.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

The phone rings.

He ignores it.

He’s ignoring everyone. He’s going to keep ignoring everyone for the rest of his _life._ He’s been hiding in his room since the moment he woke up. He’s not leaving until he’s found the deepest, darkest, dingiest cavern to hide in, and then he’s never ever ever going to come out of it.

The screen-Steve coughs and shudders, and rolls onto his hands and knees. Bucky kneels next to him, still checking for injuries, which means he’s totally unprepared for when screen-Steve turns to him and tackles him to the ground.

The recording automatically zooms in on them. Steve tucks his chin under the blanket and breathes deep, basking in the smell of his own scent that still suffuses it. “Thanks, Friday,” he mumbles when the camera finds a good angle.

“Captain,” Friday acknowledges, zooming a little closer.

Steve cocoons himself as best as he can in the stupid blanket and stares morosely at the screen where Bucky is joined by Clint, who helps to push screen-Steve away. Screen-Steve responds by hooking an ankle around Bucky’s knees and knocking him onto the ground. There’s no sound to go with the grainy footage but Steve doesn’t need it. He knows exactly what’s being said. He just… can’t quite believe it. It’s him telling Bucky that he wants sex. That he wants sex with Bucky, specifically.

Steve grabs a pillow and perches it on his head before throwing the blanket over the top to create a tent-ish sort of thing. It’s not _quite_ right but it’s pretty close. There’s still something missing, though. There always is. He takes all his clothes off but everything still feels _wrong._ If he just had one more blanket that smelled as good as THIS one. Or if that cushion was over _there_ … He starts to rearrange the nest and as soon as he realises what he’s doing he pushes the whole lot off. Then he’s just sitting naked on the couch so he puts all the blankets back on. Being off suppressants is _weird._

“You have guests at the front door, Captain.”

“Tell them I’m sleeping.”

The front door unlocks and Steve pokes his head out of his blanket fort to see Sam stroll in. “Cap.”

Steve glares at him. “I’m sleeping.”

“I can see that. And what about eating?”

Tony follows Sam in, carrying baskets of food.

 _Smart,_ Steve thinks bitterly. _Sending in two betas._ Their scents barely compete with Steve’s.

“I don’t want you here,” he huffs.

“Should have thought of that before you punched a hole through my security system, then.”

Steve only glares. They all know why he punched a hole in his own apartment wall.

On screen, the tiny Avengers load into a tiny quinjet, and the feed automatically switches to the landing site at the front of the compound. Steve’s watched it so many times that he doesn’t need to see how the quinjet doors open before it’s even touched down. He already knows that Bucky’s going to sprint out with an armful of a horny omega that—somehow—is apparently him.

Tony puts three glasses on the table in front of him and pours what has to be the darkest liquor Steve has ever seen. “Bucky, please,” Steve’s voice says from the laptop speaker. Steve glares at Tony, daring him to say something. Tony keeps pouring, blank-faced. “Fuck me, alpha. Please, Bucky, please!”

Sam shifts a few pillows and sits on Steve’s other side and reaches forward to press the laptop screen down. “I think we’ve seen enough of this,” he says gingerly, and it shuts with a quiet snap.

“I’m watching it,” Steve mutters.

Tony hands him a glass. “For four days straight. You know Friday has a whole lifetime of movies you could have been catching up on instead?”

Steve eyes the dark liquid suspiciously then tosses it back. It tastes thick and bitter. “Is this expensive?” he asks.

“Obviously.”

Steve holds out his glass for a refill and Tony just hands him the bottle. Drinking the whole thing won’t get him drunk but Steve does it anyway, and he feels a little better after. At least Tony pretends to look put out by the loss. Sam reaches into the food basket and brings out a few bottles of beer instead.

“So,” Tony says. “We fucked up.”

Steve doesn’t bother to reply to that. He thinks the answer is fairly obvious. He glares at his beer instead.

“We know we fucked up,” Sam says while Steve doesn’t look at either of them. “We should have known that wasn’t you. We just—” he visibly restrains himself from offering an explanation. An _excuse._ “We’re sorry, and we want to know how to make it better.”

Steve opens his laptop back up and points at the timer on the screen. It reads 11:07:00. Bucky is manhandling an extremely wriggly Steve through the door to their apartment, slamming it shut behind them. “Friday?” The video skips to the same door at 18:58:00. After a few seconds a hand appears in the wall and reaches around to scrabble at the lock. “Seven hours and fifty-one minutes,” Steve says, as the screen-version of himself manages to open the door before stumbling down the hall. “I spent seven hours and fifty-one minutes letting my best friend fuck me.” Tony raises an eyebrow at his language but his self-preservation instinct at least stops him from saying anything. Steve jabs his finger at the screen. “I don’t know how you plan on making that ‘ _better’.”_

“It’s okay to be angry,” Sam says. “But you should be thinking about ways to start recovering, too. We can help with that. Whatever you want, man.”

“Don’t fucking counsellor-crap me,” Steve snaps.

Sam holds out his hands. “Whatever you want,” he repeats. “You want to be left in here to watch videos of you and Barnes making out? Be my guest. We’ll miss you on our morning runs, though.”

“You don’t want me on your runs,” Steve scoffs.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re always invited.”

Steve snorts into his beer. Yeah, sure. Like Bucky even wants to look at him after what had happened. Like any of his team want to look at him. He’s not sure _he_ even wants to look at him _._

“No one even tried to stop me,” he mumbles.

“You were making a very compelling argument,” Tony supplies.

“Which isn’t the point,” Sam says with a glare at Tony. “We should have known not to trust what you were saying while you were under the influence of unknown chemicals. And we’re sorry.”

“I’m never going on another mission,” Steve moans, covering his head with the blanket again.

Sam pats his thigh. “If that’s what you want.”

Steve groans. Of course that’s not what he wants. But he can’t even comprehend the idea of ever heading back into the field with any of his teammates, let alone Bucky. It’s too mortifying to even think about. All the embarrassing little things he’d nurtured as part of his secret crush, and he’d apparently just loosed them all at once after just a couple of flowers and some shonky spellwork.

“You gotta eat, though,” Tony pipes in. He pokes Steve’s arm through the blanket-shawl. “And maybe go to the gym once in a while? These biceps aren’t going to curl themselves.”

Steve grunts at him, completely Done with the idea of being a functional human for the rest of the week. Potentially for the rest of his life.

Sam lifts up the nearest corner of the blanket to pop his head into the fort with him. “You don’t have to go straight back to training,” he says kindly. “But you should leave the apartment if you feel up to it. Or at least put on some clothes.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Steve mutters. He ignores Sam’s pointed look at the cocoon of blankets and pillows around him. He hasn’t had so much as a heat in over 80 years. He’s allowed to nest now that he’s broken his streak so damn spectacularly. With a sex curse, no less.

A sex curse with _Bucky._

He gets the intense desire to add a few thousand extra blankets to his pile and then just suffocate beneath them.

“I’ve lost my best friend,” he mumbles, feeling pitiful and probably looking even worse.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam says, at the same time as Tony says, “Fat chance.”

“He’s never going to speak to me again. Not after this.” He peeks out of the fort. “Is he?”

Sam looks grim. “Well, okay. He’s obviously taking it pretty hard.” Steve’s stomach drops. “Mostly he blames himself. But—.”

“Huh? This isn’t his fault!”

Sam eyes him. “Oh, what, you’re going to take that blame too?”

“Well I _am_ the one who got cursed.”

“Yeah, that’s the bit that kind of exonerates you from blame, Cap.”

Steve eyes a pillow nearby, and the stupid omega part of him wants it a quarter inch to the left. He nudges it with his toe. “Well it’s hardly Bucky’s fault either. He was just, I don’t know, the first one to touch me or whatever

Tony and Sam share a look. “Wait,” Tony says. “What?”

“Well I don’t know how sex curses work,” he says. “Bucky touched me first so the curse latched on to him, right?” He nudges the pillow a little more. “And being the idiot he is, of course he couldn’t say no.”

“Wait, wait, wait, Steve do you think Barnes had sex with you out of _obligation?”_

He squints at them. “Clearly?”

Tony puts his head in his hands. “Oh God,” he says.

Sam looks a little green. “Steve, I’m, uh, not sure how to say this. But. Barnes did _not_ have sex with you because you touched him first. The chemical blast didn’t attune you to each other, it just pumped up your hormones and obliterated your suppressants.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “But then why did Bucky agree to help me if any alpha could have done the job?” Nat and Thor had been right there, after all.

“Steve. Oh my God. Barnes was _thrilled_ when you told him you loved him.”

“I what? He WHAT?”

“Shit, we thought you’d guessed. Man, how blind are you?”

Tony throws his hands up. “He’s been laser-beaming you with his alpha eyes since—ow!” He rubs his arm, where Sam had just punched him.

“It’s not our place to say,” Sam says pointedly.

Steve blinks and waves at Tony. “No, no, wait wait wait, what were you going to say? Alpha eyes for how long!?”

 _“It’s not our place to say,”_ Sam repeats, a little firmer. He looks over at Steve. “Listen, man, he’s taking this really hard, okay. I know this isn’t what you wanted but it sure as hell isn’t what he wanted, either. At least not like this. Go easy on the poor guy, his heart’s fucking broken.”

“Hang on,” Steve says, feeling like a great big hammer with the word _Feelings_ engraved on it is raised above his head. “Wait, wait, wait, back up a second here, I just…” The hammer raises expectantly. “Bucky _liked_ me?”

“Likes,” Tony amends, and the great big hammer drops onto Steve’s head with all the fanfare of a seventy-year infatuation meeting an unexpected turn of events.

“But I like _him!”_ Steve somehow manages from underneath the intense weight of all the emotions his poor heart is trying to cycle through all at the same time.

Tony looks so defeated. “You mean to tell me,” he says with what appears to be barely contained exhaustion, “that you’ve been moping up here this whole time because you thought you had sex with someone who didn’t like you back, and Barnes has been moping downstairs this whole time because he thought _he_ had sex with someone who didn’t like _him_ back? And this whole time you could have both been having sex with each other instead of doing any moping at all?”

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers. He scrunches the blanket up around his face in a desperate attempt to hide from way too many realisations hitting him all at once. The blanket poofs up another intoxicatingly comforting waft of scent, and, well, why not one more realisation to add to the list? He shoves the corner of the blanket under Sam’s nose, then Tony’s. _“What does this smell like?”_ he demands.

Sam covers his nose with his hand and turns away. “Dude!” he complains. “Is that the blanket you had _sex_ on? Jesus, learn how to use a washing machine!”

“Why are you _wearing that?”_ Tony asks. He looks over at Sam as if to say _Omegas, right?!_

Steve stuffs his face into the blanket and breathes deep, and now he knows why it smells so good. That’s _Bucky’s_ scent. He’s scent-matched _Bucky._

“Oh my God,” he whispers. “I think we might be soulmates.”

“You know what,” Tony says, getting to his feet. “I’m tapping right out of this one.”

But Steve beats him to the door. “Bucky!” he yells, sprinting for the elevators. “Bucky, I’m coming!”

“Wait!” Sam yells after him. “Wait! Steve, you’re only wearing a blanket, for God’s sake!”

Steve does _not_ have the time to be worried about what he’s wearing. “Take me to Bucky!” he orders Friday, throwing himself into the first open lift.

“Gotta hand it to him,” Tony mutters, right before the doors close. “The man knows how to make an entrance.”

* * *

~FOUR DAYS EARLIER~

Waking up is—for want of a better term—the fucking _worst._

He’s clearly been in some kind of fight. He vaguely remembers something about a wizard and a crazy scientist, although now that he thinks about it that might have been the same person. His head hurts like it’s been on the receiving end of one of the Hulk’s high-fives.

What the hell _happened?_

He’s got a half-dozen empty drip bags surrounding him, which is normal. If there’s something strong enough to take him down it usually means he goes down _hard._ He’s sure he’d have two drips in at the same time if anyone gave Dr. Cho half a chance, but even she hasn’t yet managed to manufacture a vein in his metal arm.

“Steve?” he mumbles. There’s no response. That’s odd. Whenever Bucky ends up in the medbay Steve always waits for him to wake up. Nothing would keep Steve away unless he’s been injured, too. At the thought, his blood runs cold. “Steve?” he calls, a little louder. He rips the blanket off the bed and tries to stumble to his feet. He looks down and gets a glimpse of himself: He’s wearing a thin hospital gown which does absolutely nothing to hide his thighs, littered with little finger-shaped bruises and marks that on closer inspection appear to be from teeth.

He lifts the hem of the gown and the bruises go all the way up, up, right up to his cock, which is resting soft and sated between his legs. It’s a little pink, like it’s had a marathon.

 _I’ve been having sex,_ he realises, and as soon as the thought comes he remembers everything else. Steve! The wizard’s curse! Steve, finally! Steve kissing him! Steve telling him he loved him! He falls back onto the bed, grinning. No wonder Steve isn’t here, he’s probably just as tired as Bucky is. They’d been going for _hours_ as the spell burned itself out.

“Sergeant Barnes,” comes Friday’s voice.

“Heya, Fri!” He’s too loud, but he doesn’t care. He can’t seem to reign in his excitement. Steve! And him! Together! “Guess who got laid today,” he says cheekily. Friday obviously knows exactly who got laid, and by whom. Steve hadn’t exactly been subtle after being hit by the spell. “Where’s my omega?” He thrills right down to his toes. He finally gets to call Steve his omega!

There’s a delicate little pause. “Captain Rogers is taking a shower,” Friday answers smoothly.

Bucky swings his feet onto the floor and tries to stand up. “I’d better go join him,” he says with a wink. “Make sure he doesn’t need one last round.” There’s a curling thrill of heat in belly as he thinks about joining Steve under the water.

“Sir has sent a message telling you to stay in medbay, Sergeant.”

“Hm? Why? Is Steve okay?”

Another delicate little pause. “Captain Rogers appears to be a little dizzy, and slightly dehydrated. He’s receiving medical care. You need more fluids yourself.”

“I’m _fine,”_ Bucky scoffs and goes to rise again. His vision swims and the back of his head throbs. He sits back down rather quickly. “Actually,” he says, “maybe I’ll stay in bed a little longer.” Now that he thinks about it, he’s feeling a little _too_ hot.

“An excellent idea, Sergeant.” Friday sounds… relieved?

He probes the back of his head. His fingers glance off an enormous lump right at the base of his skull. A sharp jolt goes through his head at the same time as a duller, hotter jolt goes through his belly.

_What the…_

He lies down and curls onto his side, groaning. He suddenly doesn’t feel well at _all._ Sure, they went hard. But did they go _this_ hard? He tries to rifle through his memories but everything is feeling very… _tender._ He remembers kissing Steve (and kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him), and fucking him frantically, trying to get a lifetime of knots into him in one afternoon. Steve had smelled, well… Divine is a cheesy word but Steve had smelled _divine_. Like Christmas, and breakfast, and forests, and bed, and all of Bucky’s other favourite things, things that didn’t even make sense because mostly Steve didn’t smell like anything except _Steve_ and then, later, like Bucky. Like Bucky’s omega.

God, he had spent so long with his nose buried in Steve’s neck, just drinking in their combined scent. He’d dreamed about it for decades, but somehow the real thing had been even better.

He lifts the hospital gown again, bringing it to his nose in case there’s some trace scent on it. But it’s just clinical and sterilised. The sudden awareness of the lack of Steve’s scent makes another frisson of pain throb in his belly.

Why is he so _sore?_ He had been… he had been scenting Steve. Fucking him _again._ And then Steve’s bedroom had been whirling around him and his… shit, his _head._

He groans again, his body telling him in no uncertain terms that it _hurts._

“Friday,” he says again, clutching his stomach.

“Agent Romanov is on her way,” the AI replies.

He gets another few minutes to really realise how much pain he’s in, and then Nat walks in, looking grim.

“What,” he says, “the fuck?”

“Yeah,” she says. “About that…”

He hopes she has good news. Because his body doesn’t want to cooperate with the rest of him, and despite being in pain he’s pretty sure he’s reacting to the fact that he’s just spent half a day with an omega in heat.

He’s going into rut.

And then Nat drops the little bombshell that apparently Steve had only said those things because he had been drugged to the gills.

So he’s going into rut _without his omega._


	3. All Stations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Barging into people’s bedrooms is rude,_ he thinks, three whole seconds after barging into Bucky’s bedroom.

All stations are tuned to Bucky. If he had been blind and deaf and insensate he still would have been able to navigate to Bucky’s rooms using his nose alone. The smell of Bucky is… astounding. And now that Steve knows what it is he can’t believe that he didn’t recognise it before. It _smells_ like Bucky. It smells like his _smile,_ which isn’t even possible but Steve’s not thinking about what is-and-isn’t possible right now. For the first time in his life he’s following his omega senses, and his nose is unerring.

He’s been on suppressants since the moment he presented, and had always assumed that any innate omega skills had atrophied without use. But as he sprints down the hall he can feel an unfurling sense somewhere… _other._ A primal pull beneath his rib cage. He scents the air like he’s coming up from a lifetime spent underwater. He parses the hidden meaning from the world around him like he’s been doing it his whole life. The scents of his teammates, and the filtered information that accompany them: how long ago they’d walked these halls, how long they’d stayed. Even, to some extent, what they had been feeling.

And, through it all…

_Bucky._

Like a lifeline, Bucky’s scent pulls him. The closer he gets to Bucky’s rooms, the fresher the smell gets, and the more information he gleans from it.

The fresher scent is wrong, somehow. It’s _wrong._ It’s still Bucky, and it’s still goodness and comfort and home and—Steve sucks in a breath—it’s still _mate._ But there’s a quality to it that is so jarring it takes Steve a moment to realise that he knows what the wrongness is, too.

It’s Steve.

Or, to be more precise, the lack of Steve.

Bucky’s scent is wrong because there’s an absence to it where Steve’s scent is supposed to be, and he’s only had a few days of being a fully-fledged omega but that’s apparently more than enough time to have developed his senses enough to be horrified by the realisation.

The door to Bucky’s rooms doesn’t even slow him down, but as soon as he’s through it he hits a wall of scent that’s so solid he comes to a dead stop.

“Bucky!” he coughs, almost choking. There’s no answer but he doesn’t need it anyway. The scent is so thick he can almost see it, emanating from Bucky’s bedroom in waves.

 _Barging into people’s bedrooms is rude,_ he thinks, three whole seconds after barging into Bucky’s bedroom. And then he doesn’t care because Bucky’s curled up on his side, stripped to his boxers with his back towards the door. He turns to look over his shoulder and he looks… miserable. He looks _miserable._

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, heart breaking.

Bucky turns away, and pulls a pillow over his head.

“Not real,” Steve hears him muttering. “You’re not real.”

Steve’s on the bed before he can blink. He cuddles in behind him, his front fitting against Bucky’s back like the most well-designed puzzle pieces in the world. But Bucky’s skin is furnace-hot against him and that… that isn’t right, either. That sparks some unhappy omega instinct that has him impulsively exposing his throat, trying to get the right angle so some combination of nose and scent glands occurs.

Impossibly, Bucky manages to curl up tighter.

“No,” he moans. “Not again.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers. “Alpha, I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m here.”

Bucky groans and puts his metal arm over the pillow, holding it tight against his head so Steve can’t get at his neck, even when he straddles Bucky’s waist and tries to squirm right into his skin.

“You’re not real,” Bucky mumbles beneath him.

“I am,” Steve insists. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please,” Bucky moans, “Steve please just, not now, please.”

“What not now?” Steve asks, running his nose and cheek up and down the bits of Bucky that he can reach. The smell isn’t getting any better. Bucky’s scent is all Steve-less and Steve’s not fixing it. He’s doing something wrong _._ He’s not being a good omega.

“Yell at me later,” Bucky begs, clutching the pillow so tight over his head that the words come out almost entirely muffled. Steve’s filled with the urge to _do something_ but he has absolutely no idea what. He licks the back of Bucky’s metal hand and jams his face into the pillow but it all smells stale and yucky and Bucky still won’t unclench and Steve is _failing._

“Alpha,” he whines, “come back, help me.”

Bucky shudders from the top of his spine right down to the tips of his toes, and he turns instinctively towards Steve for half a second before shaking himself and clamping the pillow back over his head, clenching even harder.

“How badly did I hurt you?” he asks, voice strained and barely audible.

“You didn’t,” Steve promises. “I hurt _you.”_

“You had every right.”

“I didn’t know it was you!”

Bucky groans. “That’s what Nat said. That you didn’t remember. You weren’t thinking straight and I still—"

“Looked after me,” Steve finishes for him. “My alpha, my good alpha, my—”

 _“Don’t,”_ Bucky says harshly. His metal arm whirs and his fingers clench in the pillow.

Steve’s belly cramps. Bucky doesn’t want him. His whole body curls in around his sternum, like it’s belatedly trying to protect his heart. The rejection is an actual, physical pain. Which is _ridiculous_ because less than an hour ago he was under the full impression that Bucky didn’t like him at all.

He throttles his stupid dumb idiot omega senses, and his stupid dumb idiot omega senses retaliate by voicing themselves in another whine; completely involuntary and so loud Steve almost claps a hand over his mouth in mortification.

“Don’t,” Bucky says again. “Don’t do… _that,_ Steve just, please just go, just, please Steve don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I mean it,” Steve insists, voice trembling. His belly cramps again because this is a _rejection,_ Bucky is _rejecting_ him, and Steve isn’t a good omega and he is failing and, and, and…

God, now he knows why the doctors called it a kindness when they put him on suppressants. What’s the evolutionary point of having his brain pick fights with itself every five seconds? That’s what this is, right? His hormones playing hide-and-seek in his cerebellum? And why is Bucky’s _smell_ making it worse?

Fuck it. He’s Captain Goddamn America, he can at least push through a little hormone imbalance to tell the man he loves that he loves him, right?

“I meant all of it,” he says, more insistent. “Everything I said. I’ve always wanted you, and you took care of me when I needed you.” He presses hands against Bucky’s overheated skin, slipping through the sweat pouring off him. Bucky doesn’t budge. “Buck,” Steve says. “I heard the recordings. I don’t… I don’t remember it but I wasn’t lying, you gotta know I wasn’t lying. Not one word, I swear.”

He tries again to stuff his nose against Bucky’s neck, and this time Bucky relents ever-so-slightly, and Steve can finally get a lungful of alpha scent, straight from the source.

It’s not… particularly… pleasant…

It’s still wrong. It’s still Steve-less. And it carries a tang of something hot and unhappy and frustrated that sets all Steve’s new-found omega senses on edge. It makes him feel _guilty._

Worse, it brings no relief. Bucky’s scent doesn’t change. Steve doesn’t need Bucky, he realises. At least, not in the same way. He’s had Bucky’s scent this whole time; it’s been all over his apartment and in his bed and wrapped around his shoulders in the form of an unwashed sex blanket. Steve hasn’t been Bucky-less for four days, but Bucky has been Steve-less.

“Scent me,” he begs. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky buries his nose so far into the pillow that it’s likely the feathers are going to be permanently moulded to his face.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he promises. “Please, Buck.” He nudges his nose against the back of Bucky’s metal hand like maybe that’ll convince him. “I’m me again,” he says, “and I want you, this time for real.”

The pillow lifts ever-so-slightly from Bucky’s face, and two bloodshot eyes blink at Steve, and Steve tips his head down and his chin up, aware of how vulnerable his neck is. He shivers all over, but the _other_ sense, the burgeoning omega-ness in his belly, tells him this is exactly what he needs to do. (About time the whole region below his ribcage got with the program.) He gets even closer and Bucky’s nose touches his scent glands but he’s still not breathing, and Steve’s so tense he might actually shake himself right out of existence.

“Alpha,” he breathes. And he can tell the exact moment Bucky takes a tiny little sip of air because his scent goes _phwooph_ all at once, like a great big cloud of smoke hitting a hurricane. It’s there one moment and then just gone the next, replaced by a scent that’s just like Steve’s blanket except _better_ because it’s _fresh_ and it’s _Bucky_ and Bucky goes limp and gasps, and gets a great big lungful of Steve all at once and Steve plasters himself on top and he can’t reach all of Bucky at the same time but he tries, dammit, he tries. He wants to rub his scent all over Bucky’s face, wants to be deeper than his skin. The pillow gets thrown to oblivion. He holds the back of Bucky’s head to lock him against Steve’s neck, then when it’s obvious that Bucky’s not going anywhere he grabs for his shoulders, his forearms, his waist. Anything he can reach. Bucky rolls fully onto his back, dragging Steve on top of him and they’re skin-to-skin from chin to navel and it’s almost perfect, it’s almost enough.

“Stevie,” Bucky breathes _._ “You’re not, are you real?”

“It’s me,” Steve promises.

Bucky gropes for his bedside table, grabbing the first thing he can reach—a book—and pegging it at the little console next to the door, which lights up when it gets hit.

“Friday,” Bucky groans, “is he, I need you to, is he, _ahh.”_

“Captain Rogers was cleared of any remnant chemical alterations four days ago, Sergeant.”

 _“Steve,”_ Bucky practically sobs, and grabs him tighter. The Friday-light delicately blinks off.

“I’m here, I’m here, it’s me this time, I promise Buck, I—”

“You’re back, you came back, you—” He jerks, panting. “Oh shit, you can’t be here, _hhh_.”

Bucky tries to roll him off and as they shift Steve’s knee falls in between Bucky’s and his thigh presses tight to Bucky’s crotch and Bucky’s _hard,_ like, about-to-explode hard, and his cock twitches so distinctly that Steve can actually feel it even through Bucky’s boxers.

“Woah,” he says.

Bucky groans like he’s in pain, and his face does this folded-in thing like he’s trying not to grimace. The expression doesn’t go away even when Steve rubs his scent glands all over Bucky’s cheeks and jaw. He doesn’t really know what to do about Bucky’s cock but from personal experience friction and pressure feel good. He presses his thigh tighter against Bucky’s crotch and Bucky shudders and pulls away.

“Don’t,” Bucky pleads.

“What’s wrong?”

“You don’t… you don’t know what it means.”

“I know what an erection means,” Steve says, blushing hard and almost stuttering which is absurd because his own dick is half-hard as well and he’s currently naked and practically sitting on what he’s pretty sure is his soulmate, who had a sex marathon with him less than a week ago.

“You should leave,” Bucky tells him, while simultaneously grabbing more of him to scent.

“We don’t have to do anything about it,” Steve points out. “We can just lie here, we can take things slow if you don’t want to do… _that_ again.”

Bucky groans and his hips jerk into Steve’s. “Yeah,” he says anyway, totally incongruently. “I’d like that. I’d— _ah_ —I’d like that a lot. Let’s wait.”

Steve tries to unite the idea of ‘let’s wait’ with the way Bucky’s hands are gripping his ass like he’ll die if he lets go.

“…Okay?” he tries.

“I’m—” Bucky has to pause to breathe hard, lurching under the weight of Steve’s body. “I’m— _Aah._ Steve, you should go.”

“Are you okay?”

Bucky seems to realise where his hands are. He pulls them away with visible effort. “I’m in rut,” he confesses, jaw clenching.

Steve freezes. “Oh,” he says. He vividly hears Pastor Frankston telling him that alphas in rut are gateways to Hell and that good omegas steer clear, but that was in the thirties and he’s pretty sure Bucky’s not a demon in disguise. He ransacks his memories but no newer information about rut presents itself. “You’re in rut,” he says uselessly. He looks down Bucky’s body to his straining erection. “You want to have sex?”

Bucky laughs and groans at the same time. “Oh god, did no one update your biology lessons after they took you out of the ice?”

“I’m a quick study.”

“You don’t need to, _ah,_ you don’t need to do anything, Stevie, just having your scent here is more than— _oh, hhh.”_

Steve looks dubiously down Bucky’s body at where his dick is tenting his boxers so obscenely it looks like it has to hurt. “I want to help,” he says.

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“What does it mean?”

Bucky’s panting hard now. “Sex,” he confirms. He arches weakly. “You should leave. I— I’ll be through the worst of it in another day.”

“Why haven’t you, you know…” Steve makes a quick jerk-off action with one hand, somehow blushing even harder.

Bucky groans. “It wasn’t working,” he says. “I needed… It doesn’t matter.”

“You needed me?” Steve guesses. He looks down Bucky’s body again, to the painful tent of his boxers. Bucky’s dripping with sweat but his boxers are completely dry. “Bucky,” he says slowly. “How long have you been in rut?”

Bucky reaches for Steve, bringing his face back down. “It doesn’t matter,” he says again. “I don’t know.”

Steve feels pitiful and weak. Bucky was in pain down here while Steve sat upstairs miserable but well-sated. “Tell me how to help you,” he begs. “Tell me what you want.”

Bucky shakes his head against Steve’s neck. His hands are trembling. His breaths are coming too quick. He scents Steve like he’s starving for just the smell of him. “God, I could live of you, Stevie. Nothing else, I promise, it doesn’t matter what I want.”

“You want to fuck me,” Steve guesses.

“Steve,” Bucky says as honestly as he can despite looking like he’s two seconds from a coronary, “I want to _ravish_ you.”

Steve’s ass slicks instantly. His mouth pools with saliva.

“Oh,” he says. “Let’s, uh… We can do that.”

“Steve, just… You don’t have to. We can… We can talk in a few days, just. You need to leave before I—”

“I want to,” Steve says, firmer. He shifts his thigh more deliberately over Bucky’s crotch and Bucky throws his head back and whines. His dick jerks and Steve smells the exact moment that something blurts from the head of it, suffusing the air with some kind of thick scent that’s entirely carnal and entirely Bucky.

His hole practically _drips_ in response. He wants to taste that, immediately. Faster than immediately.

_He wants that in him._

He doesn’t know if that’s an omega thing or maybe he would have always responded like that for Bucky, but it doesn’t matter because right now he wants it so bad he’s practically gagging for it. Can’t even imagine a world where he could live without tasting Bucky’s cock. He doesn’t even remember their first time, coincidentally _his_ first time, which is so unfair it’s almost a crime. He _wants this._ More importantly, he wants to remember this.

“Are you sure?” Bucky manages, but Steve’s already grabbing for him and Bucky gives up and lets him. They grapple each other needlessly; Bucky trying to get Steve down and Steve trying to get down as well and both of them just getting in each other’s way. Bucky’s almost frantic with it, and Steve vaguely wonders what four days of rut without an omega has done to him.

Bucky’s boxers go on a sudden and irreversible sabbatical to the scrap heap, and then Steve is opening his mouth wide and he has no memory of trying this before but his body knows what it’s doing. His body knows what it _wants._ Because Bucky’s cock goes down so smoothly that there’s barely any time between wanting it and getting it. And the sound Bucky makes is so filthy Steve thinks he might be pregnant just from that. Bucky fills him so perfect that there can’t be any other place for him except here, with Steve between his thighs.

 _I sucked your cock before,_ Steve realises. He doesn’t remember it but he _remembers_ it, like his body’s been craving it these last four days without him even realising. He knows the weight of Bucky’s cock even though he only caught a glimpse of it before swallowing it down. The taste of skin. The way his throat puts up an initial resistance before easing back, letting Bucky in.

Steve can’t breathe but he doesn’t need to. Nothing so insubstantial as _oxygen_ is going to get in the way of this. He swallows, and swallows, and swallows, imagining his throat as a sleeve designed just for this. Bucky has hands on the side of his face and Steve’s eyes are streaming and Bucky’s calling him, _oh,_ everything. Omega and Sweetheart and Oh Fuck and Stevie and _Mine._

“Just the first one,” Bucky says, almost to himself. “Oh, Stevie, you’re so fucking perfect, so good for me, so, _fuck, ahh,_ just one, just the first one, the first one will be fast.”

Steve nods and hums and the base of Bucky’s cock goes all swollen and hot and Steve tries to lick it, tries to open his mouth wide enough to get his tongue there, wants that further inside him than he can get it.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, “that’s, you can’t—” He gasps and scrabbles at the short hairs at Steve’s forehead. “That’s my knot,” he groans.

 _Good,_ Steve thinks, vaguely aware that a knot is a good thing right now, a knot is going to make Bucky’s scent go all soft and _right._

Steve keeps trying to drink him whole and Bucky’s fingers go tight on his ears, using the hold to haul him back a bare unhappy inch—Steve fighting the whole way—so his knot locks on the outside of Steve’s teeth instead of on the inside. Steve can breathe now with the extra inch but he doesn’t want to, he wants Bucky back inside him. Bucky swears and curls over the top of Steve’s head and something salty bursts at the back of Steve’s tongue and he swallows instinctively, only realising after it’s gone down that that’s Bucky’s _come,_ Bucky’s coming in his mouth and Steve’s swallowing. This is sex. Sex with Bucky. He’s euphoric just with the realisation and, on a baser level, it feels _good_ in a way he didn’t ever think sucking cock could feel. Bucky smells better. He tastes amazing. Steve did that to him. Steve made him smell nice and Steve made him come and _Steve_ is the reason that he’s barely forming sentences, just stuttering his name over and over.

Maybe he’s not fully clear of the sex spell, because he suddenly knows just what the Steve in the videos was going on about. He feels like begging as well. He wants everything from Bucky. He’s in agony at the idea that he had more of this and forgot it already.

He feels the pooling heat of Bucky’s seed filling his belly and his own cock jerks, wanting. He opens his mouth wide, wider, _wider still,_ trying to get the knot in in in in. He wants Bucky _in._ He can’t get his jaw far enough apart to fit the knot behind his teeth but he can’t stop himself from trying, sucking as much of it in as he can.

“Steve,” Bucky almost cries. “Stevie, oh my god, Steve, you don’t— that’s not even _possible—_ Steve, honey, oh, oh omega—”

And he tries to pull Steve off again but Steve refuses to be moved. He wraps hands around Bucky’s waist and clings on for dear life, nuzzling as far down Bucky’s cock as he can get, gulping every drop of Bucky’s spend. The _thing_ that’s under his rib cage, the omega part of him, is purring and preening and absolutely _basking_ in the sounds Bucky’s making; all evidence that says Steve’s doing the right thing, he’s being a good omega, he’s making his alpha happy.

He swallows again and Bucky’s cock jerks, another trickle of warm alpha goodness filling his belly.

“This is real?” Bucky checks, clutching at Steve’s face, and Steve has to pull off then to tell him, “Yes, Bucky, yes, alpha, I’m yours, I’m—”

Bucky hauls him back up his body to crush their mouths together, and Steve is never ever going to do anything else for the rest of his life. Bucky kisses like he’s drowning, like Steve’s the last gasp of oxygen at the end of the world. His hands grip Steve’s waist, Steve’s shoulders, Steve’s ass, moving from place to place like Bucky’s just as restless to touch everything as Steve is.

“You’re real,” Bucky tells him, awed.

Steve’s never going to let him forget it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop, had to add another chapter because this one got too long because SOMEONE (read: me) couldn't stop writing about Bucky alone and hurting and refusing help.


	4. "I did it"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Bucky practice poor social distancing (aka a PWP chapter)

Steve stuffs his face into Bucky’s neck and breathes deep, honing in on the tender scent gland where the Bucky-ness is strongest. He crushes his face against it. Bucky smells sated and good and a little bit like Steve.

"I did it," Steve preens, licking and nibbling at Bucky’s neck to make more of the scent come out.

“You did great,” Bucky tells him, a little bit strained, rocking his hips up into Steve’s belly. “But sweetheart, it’s a, _ah,_ it’s a rut, Stevie, it’s, I might be here for a while.”

Steve looks down between their bodies. Bucky’s flesh hand is gripping the base of his dick, his fingers kneading the swollen lump there. Does that feel good? Is that what Steve should be doing?

“What do I need to do?”

“Nothing, doll, you don’t need to— _ah, ah—_ ” He shoots another line of fluid over his fingers and Steve automatically leans down to lick it up, but Bucky’s metal hand wraps around his waist to keep him right where he is. “Just keep kissing me,” he begs.

Steve obliges happily, peppering Bucky’s face with kisses. Bucky kisses him back whenever Steve returns to his mouth, but his scent is going all hot and wrong again, no matter how desperately Steve holds him. Bucky’s right arm starts to move furiously, and after a minute the thick smell of orgasm rolls off him again, but this time Steve’s not there to lick him clean, because Bucky’s holding him too tight to do anything except kiss.

“You’re not letting me help,” Steve realises.

“You are helping,” Bucky tells him, panting. “I just spent four days not coming. Trust me, you’re helping.”

Steve squirms on top of him. “Let me do the—” he blushes hard, “—the thing again. Let me suck you.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay, I just needed the first one, I can do the rest sweetheart, I’ll be better soon.” His hand starts to move again and he buries his face in Steve’s neck, gulping his scent. Steve arches as prettily as he knows how. He’s wet between the cheeks of his ass and he rocks against Bucky’s thigh, trying to alleviate the weird feeling of wanting something inside him. He clenches down on the distinct absence of Bucky.

“Alpha,” he whispers, his voice going high and imploring all on its own. “Fuck me?” God, what is he even _saying?_ He knows what Bucky needs without any memory of experiencing it himself. “Fuck me, please alpha, please fuck me.”

Bucky groans and comes again, humping up against Steve’s body. “I’m okay,” he repeats, chest stuttering with how hard he’s breathing. Steve fights the urge to do something embarrassing. Like cry. If he was a good omega with good omega instincts he would know what to do. He barely knows what Bucky needs, he only has the weird feeling of emptiness to go off. Bucky should be _in_ him, and since he’s _not_ currently in Steve, then it must be Steve who’s doing something wrong.

“Please, alpha,” Steve says again, and an honest-to-god _whine_ comes out. A sound Steve didn’t even realise he was capable of making.

Bucky surges up into him, kissing him furiously, then thunking his head back down on the bed. “I can’t,” Bucky says, strained. “What do you remember? From, _nnh,_ from last time?”

“I remember getting the Avengers alarm. And then nothing. And then I threw you into a wall.” Bucky’s scent goes sour immediately and Steve nuzzles him. “I didn’t know,” he says. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it was you. Alpha, I’ve loved you since—” he laughs wetly “—since I don’t even know when.”

Bucky shoves at Steve’s shoulder so Steve goes on his side, and Bucky follows him over until he’s the one on top. “Me, too,” he admits. “But I don’t want your first time being with an alpha in rut.” He touches his nose to Steve’s, surprisingly intimate given they both stink like sex. “But this is enough, this is okay, isn’t it?”

“I want to help,” Steve says mulishly, twisting beneath him.

“You are helping. Next time I’ll, next time it’ll be so good. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll make you feel so good. We’ll do it properly, Steve, I promise.” He plants his elbows on either side of Steve’s head and his body starts to move, his cock dragging along Steve’s belly. “But just this for now, doll. Just, just stay here with me, okay? I’ll be a good alpha for you next time, I promise.”

“I want to be a good omega for you _now.”_

“I know, sweetheart, I know, and you are, you’re being so good for me, just a little longer I promise.” He jerks harder against Steve’s belly and Steve doesn’t know where to put his hands. He settles for Bucky’s shoulders, dragging him close to kiss him as Bucky jerks to another orgasm, hissing and swearing under his breath. Steve digs fingers between their bodies and cups Bucky’s dick. His knot is barely swollen at all, do knots only expand properly to lock into omegas? He kneads it anyway, just how Bucky did it earlier, coaxing better sounds out of him. If Bucky isn’t going to fuck him properly then the least Steve can do is make it as good as possible anyway. Bucky keens into his neck, rocking into Steve’s hands.

“What else?” Steve whispers into his ear. “How can I help you?”

“I’m—”

“Don’t just say you’re fine, tell me how I can make it good.”

Bucky groans. “Roll over,” he says, and Steve thrills right down to his toes. He’s never followed an order so fast in his _life._

Bucky kneels up behind him and Steve gets onto his knees as well, bracing his fingers wide against the mattress. His legs spread automatically. God, he probably looks so obscene, his back arched like that.

Bucky snarls and throws himself over Steve’s back, humping with such desperation that Steve drops from his hands to his elbows. For a moment Bucky’s barely coherent, and Steve thinks _He’s going to do it. He’s going to fuck me._ But then he leans back and shoves Steve’s knees close together again.

“Don’t,” he pants. “Don’t fucking, don’t _present,_ I’ll, baby I won’t be able to control myself.”

“Whatever you want,” Steve tells him. “I don’t mind, I want that too.”

Bucky groans and rubs his forehead over the back of Steve’s shoulders. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says. “Next time, I promise. Just… Just keep your legs together, for now.”

Steve does as he’s told and he’s rewarded by the press of something hot and hard against the backs of his thighs. He instinctively tries to open his legs and Bucky shoves them shut again, and then his dick is sliding into the tight space between them. Steve lifts up a little on his elbows and puts his head on the mattress to gape upside-down at his own dick, pressed up tight against his abs, and the head of Bucky’s dick below it, just peeking out from between his thighs. He gets a moment of utter _unfairness_ , at the sheer injustice of his _thighs_ getting something that he so desperately wants in his ass. But then Bucky makes a choked-off sound like he’s dying and his cock slides back out, and then pushes back in, and the head of it nudges the underside of Steve’s balls and the base of his cock, and actually, this is pretty good too.

He clenches hard, the muscles of his thighs squeezing tight against Bucky’s cock and Bucky makes a shocked sound against Steve’s spine. “Oh, god,” he says, “Stevie, I—”

Steve does it again, and Bucky’s metal fingers rip right through the bed sheets, and finally Steve’s found a way to make Bucky lose his goddamn mind. His ass is so slick that it’s dripping out and smoothing the slide of Bucky’s cock, making Steve all wet and messy everywhere Bucky touches.

Bucky’s hands grab for Steve’s hips and then he’s fucking Steve properly, slamming forward. Steve has to brace one hand against the headboard to stop from braining himself with the force of Bucky’s thrusts. “Alpha,” he chants. “Alpha, alpha, Bucky, yes, yes alpha.”

He tries to reach his free hand down to his own cock but Bucky grabs it and slams it against the mattress, fucking him furiously. Steve can’t do anything except brace against him and try to angle his hips so Bucky’s cock hits his own on every other pass.

“More,” he begs, and Bucky’s already giving him everything but somehow he goes harder, snarling and snapping his teeth behind Steve’s ears, holding his hips in place and just _taking_.

 _This is what he meant,_ Steve realises. _About losing control._ It’s a terrifying thought, but he’s not scared. Bucky would never hurt him, not like that.

Bucky comes, and he pulls out to get it all over Steve’s ass and back, and then shoves back in so the inside of Steve’s thighs is even stickier. Steve squeezes _tight,_ imagining that he’s milking Bucky’s cock properly. He can kill a man with his thighs alone, but this is infinitely preferable. If only Dr. Eskine knew how Steve was going to use his serum enhancements, given the chance.

Bucky goes again, and again. He rakes fingernails down Steve’s spine slowly enough that Steve arches with them. He grabs Steve’s hair, Steve’s hips, Steve’s ass. After a particularly furious round he wraps both arms under Steve’s and holds his shoulders from the front, pulling him almost-but-not-quite vertical so Steve can’t find equilibrium, the only thing keeping him upright is Bucky’s arms, Bucky’s cock, Bucky’s teeth scraping threateningly over the back of his neck. “Yes,” he chants, writhing and squeezing. He tries to fuck back into Bucky’s thrusts but he can’t go anywhere except where Bucky wants him. He reaches backwards to claw at Bucky’s thighs and ass, pulling him tighter. His fingertips are in the cleft of Bucky’s ass and he touches something… Bucky’s asshole. Bucky howls and comes immediately, pressed so tight to Steve that his come drips down the front of Steve’s thighs.

 _Something to remember,_ Steve says to himself. He thinks of next time, after this, when neither of them is in rut or heat or whatever, and Steve could ask to try this with positions reversed. Bucky would let him, he knows Bucky would let him. Steve would have to find something to open Bucky up with because Bucky doesn’t have his own slick. Or Steve could use _his_ slick.

He groans hard, and his head falls back onto Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky kisses up the side of his neck, surprisingly tender, and then he bites Steve’s earlobe, not tender at all. “Steve,” he whispers. He’s still hard. Steve can feel his knot, finally, big and hot and swollen right at the base of Bucky’s dick. Evidence that Steve’s doing this right. Bucky’s hands move from Steve’s shoulders to his pecs. He squeezes, and Steve’s neglected cock jumps. His thumbs brush over Steve’s nipples.

“Bucky—” Steve says, high in the back of his throat.

“You sensitive here?” Bucky asks, voice ragged.

“No,” Steve starts to say, but then Bucky squeezes again, and pinches him, and, oh, okay. “Maybe,” he amends, trying to push his chest into Bucky’s hands and his ass into Bucky’s lap.

“I’ll make you come like this one day,” Bucky promises roughly. “Just from these.” He digs his fingernails in then eases back, just cupping Steve’s chest. “The things I’ll do to you,” he groans. His hips start to roll again, gently, without pulling away. He tips Steve forward so he’s back on his elbows and knees.

“Again?” Steve asks.

Bucky makes a wordless sound, pulls his hips back, and then thrusts sharply back in. He smells good. There’s hardly any of that awful sour scent left in the air. He smells like sex, and Steve. He smells like he’s been well taken care of.

Steve preens, and tightens his legs, and Bucky hammers into him. He’s still nudging the base of Steve’s cock on every other pass and it’s _almost_ enough, but every time Steve tries to touch himself Bucky swats his hand out of the way.

Bucky pulls out long minutes later and collapses, dragging Steve to the bed with him. Steve’s an absolute _mess._ There’s lines of dried and drying sweat and spunk.

“Shower?” he offers, since Bucky’s dick is finally softening and maybe this is the end of the rut.

“Never,” Bucky rumbles, butting his head under Steve’s chin to lick his scent glands. “Make sure everyone knows your mine.”

“That’s disgusting,” Steve tells him, and Bucky just hums in agreement.

“Pretty ‘mega,” he purrs. His hand slots into place around Steve’s cock like it belongs there. “You save this for me, sweetheart?”

Steve tries to thrust into Bucky’s fingers. His a little too breathy when he says, “Oh, sure, _now_ you remember I have one of these too.”

Bucky hums into Steve’s neck. “It’s mine though, isn’t that right?”

“Depends what you plan on doing with it, Buck.”

Bucky hums and licks Steve’s neck again, making his skin practically fizz with pleasure. “Gonna take such good care of you,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, moving his hand slowly. Steve jerks into his grip and comes in seconds, moaning right into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky brings his hand to his lips and sucks his fingers clean, eyes lidded, and Steve gets the faint idea that maybe the rut isn’t as over as he thought it was, because that seems like an entirely alpha thing to do and it’s also hot as hell.

Bucky pulls the surviving pillows closer, offering them one-by-one to Steve like gifts, until Steve arranges them around their heads in just the right pattern. Bucky even rolls to the side to grab one of the pillows that fell off the mattress, though he doesn’t deign to leave the bed to get the more far-flung ones.

Then he crawls into the poor excuse for a nest and pushes Steve over onto his side, cuddling up behind him. His metal arm fits beneath the pillow under Steve’s head and his right arm goes over Steve’s waist and his fingers—oh sweet mercy—his fingers slot into place around Steve’s dick, and he cups Steve up to his stomach and carefully pulls them tighter together. When he’s finally found a comfortable position his whole body relaxes. He’s out in seconds.

Steve gapes down at the place where… where Bucky’s just _holding him._ Just. Holding. Cupping his dick. Like this is the most natural sleeping position in the world.

“Alphas,” he whispers to himself, amazed, and then he follows Bucky into sleep.

Bucky wakes him a few hours later to fuck his chest, panting hard until Steve squeezes his pecs together and Bucky comes all over his chin and neck, made marginally less disgusting by Bucky then licking Steve clean.

He goes to the kitchen and returns with muesli bars and bottled water.

“My brave alpha, returned from the hunt,” Steve coos, and Bucky goes all soft and barely lets Steve finish the meal before claiming him for another cuddle.

Bucky wakes him a few more hours after that, and Steve replaces Bucky’s hand with his own, pumping another orgasm out of him and kneading his knot. It feels a little clumsy but Bucky groans and pushes into him, so maybe he’s doing it just right.

Bucky goes to fetch more sustenance and brings Steve an extra set of sheets to add to the nest. Steve kisses him until he falls back asleep.

The next time is the last time, and Bucky makes it almost all the way to dawn before he wakes Steve up.

“Last one,” he says, as Steve scoops his hand into place.

Steve hums interestedly. “And then you’ll fuck me?” he checks.

Bucky throws an arm over his eyes. “How can you want _more sex?”_ he groans.

“I was promised a ravishing,” Steve points out.

“Well I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but we’re going back to square one.”

Steve squeezes his fist, just a little, and raises one eyebrow when Bucky stutters in his grip. “Are you sure now’s the time you want to break promises, Buck?”

“I’m not breaking promises, I just want to do it right.”

Steve pumps a little faster, and swipes his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock. “Right, huh?”

“We did this all the wrong way round, didn’t we? A heat, and then a rut, and you don’t even remember one of them.” He rolls on top of Steve and kisses both cheeks, and then his mouth. “So I’m going to court you, this time.”

Steve scoffs. “You don’t need to court me, Buck. You already know I love you.”

“Well I’m going to court you anyway. Dinner. Movies. The whole shebang.” He puts hands on Steve’s chest, rolling his nipples between his fingers. “I’m gonna make sure you know that I’m the best alpha, the one who can take care of you best. And then—” he kisses Steve, “—when I’ve done it properly—” another kiss, “—when you’re head over heels, no, don’t argue, when you’re _even more_ head over heels—” _kiss_ , “—then maybe I’ll take you to bed—” _kiss,_ “—and treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Fair warning,” Steve says, bringing Bucky over the edge and out of his rut. “But I’m going to be an easy lay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos, especially on the last chapter! The real reason I keep writing isn't because I like piling angst on two supersoldiers, it's because of you 🥰
> 
> If you liked this fic, you might enjoy [Tomorrow Won't Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003829) by Tarash. If you know any other similar fics hmu and I'll list them as well :)


End file.
